


Daddy?

by HisMissHarley13



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 04:23:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16926435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisMissHarley13/pseuds/HisMissHarley13
Summary: Tig meets the reader dancing at a strip club...





	Daddy?

Tig pursed his lips as you worked the pole, thrusting and spinning in time with the music. He was the one tonight, you had seen him give the other girls cursory glances, watching their shows with mild interest. He had followed you from the Samcro party, where you had been hanging round with some of the girls you had met, before you had to leave and come to work.

You had considered blowing the job off for what was measuring up to be a good night. One of the guys was being welcomed home. Jail, you surmised. Probably where you would end up if you lost this job a week after you had gotten it. Charming was nothing like LA. The local police came down hard on anyone caught turning tricks, according to some of the girls you had met. No, you’d do anything to avoid that particular line of work.

You had showed up in Charming a week before, with the intent of meeting a member of the local MC. When the girls had told you about the party, you thought it would be the perfect opportunity.

So here you were, putting on an extra special show for the guy with the blue eyes and the leather cut. His patch told you he was the Sgt at Arms, the tongue tracing his lips told you he was interested. You couldn’t deny that you were too.

***

You had finished your set and changed in the back, shrieking as you opened the door to come face to face with your admirer. His arm above his head against the door frame, casually blocking your exit,  
“Hey doll,” he purred, “hell of a show you put on there,” his voice was like a fine whiskey, smokey and smooth.  
“Um, thanks,” you flashed him a smile, ducking your head slightly and looking up at him through your lashes, “do you um, do you normally come back here to review the performances?” you challenged, shifting your weight as you placed your hands on your hips, oozing confidence.  
“Not felt the need to before,” his grin was almost predatory as he flicked his eyes down to devour your body.  
You chewed your lip, mouth curving, “I’m honoured,” you chuckle.   
“I’m Tig,” he replied with a grin. You groaned, rolling your eyes theatrically,  
“Really? Dad jokes?” you scorned playfully.  
“Oh baby, I could have you calling me Daddy if that’s your thing,” he raised his eyebrows suggestively, lips twitching. You took a step towards him, running your hands up the smooth leather of his cut as his hands found your hips. His grip was strong and sure as he leaned towards you and claimed your mouth. You sighed a little and he made to move you back into the dressing room. Pushing back, you broke the kiss and placed a hand on his cheek,  
“Nu-uh, I get caught in here and I’m out on my ass,” you explained pointedly. He nodded and took hold of your hand,  
“Come with me then, sweetheart. I got a place we can go,” his promise had your stomach fluttering.  
Leading you outside, you let out a low whistle as you saw the matt black Harley in the parking lot. His expression was smug as he noted the appreciation on your face. Climbing onto his bike, he held out a helmet to you,  
“C’mon doll, let’s ride,”

***

You woke early the following morning, entwined in Tig’s arms. You delicately extricated yourself and hopped into the shower. You crept out of the clubhouse, leaving an envelope tucked under the Jamieson’s bottle on the bar.

You made your way back to the sparse apartment you were renting, heading straight for your bed and sleep, preparing for another long night of work.  
Your first of three sets went without a hitch, a fair few notes in your belt from the local college team. You faltered momentarily when you saw the familiar figure at the door, quickly recovering your pace before anyone could notice. He was still at the bar by the time you left the stage.

You had stacked your bills and secured them with a band by the time your final set came round. Taking a deep breath, you calmed your anxious heartbeat and smoothed the checked skirt over the curve of your ass. Checking your stockings were even, you blew yourself a kiss in the mirror and strutted out. There he was, front and centre. He leaned forwards, elbows on his knees and fingers steepled at his mouth.

You weren’t surprised this time as you opened the door, merely turning round and packing your things back into your bag. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him,  
“Hey there, Honoured,” his grin wolfish again.  
“Enjoy the show sweetheart?” you glanced at him over your shoulder, pouting slightly,  
“I’d like to see more of ya,” he advanced, snaking his arms around your waist, growling playfully. You slapped at his forearm against your stomach,  
“Hey, I told you already, not in here!”  
“Your boss can suck my dick,” Tig sneered, “But as it seems so important to you, let’s go,”

***

The clubhouse was different tonight, where the party gave it the air of a nightclub, today it felt more like a sports bar. There were four guys playing pool, another three at the bar and one behind opening bottles of beer. The rock music playing was loud, but not so much that people couldn’t hold conversations. There were a handful of people around one of the tables playing cards.

You walked in slightly ahead of Tig, his hands steering you at the waist as his mouth teased at your neck. You leaned into him with a giggle, looking up as a chair scraped loudly against the floor. The conversation died suddenly as you met the eyes boring into you, a photograph gripped tightly in the hands of the biker, dimples forming as he swallowed, his shock turning to anger. You stopped in your tracks,  
“Oh fuck me!” you cursed. Tig chuckled into your neck,  
“I’m trying to,” he nibbled at your ear. You jabbed your elbow into his stomach and he straightened up, grinning at his fellow biker, “Hey Chibby,”  
Filip Telford’s eyes never left yours, a mixture of curiosity and fury broiled behind them. His gruff voice cut through the air like a blade, his accent caressing your name as it rolled off his tongue,  
“(Y/N)?”  
“Hi Daddy,” you breathed, taking a step towards him.


End file.
